


Fluorescent Goodbyes

by Spectral_Artist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger, Car Accident, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Festivals, Fireworks, Gen, Grief, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, Past, Physical Disability, Self-Reflection, Tragedy, daughter - Freeform, mother - Freeform, present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectral_Artist/pseuds/Spectral_Artist
Summary: There was never truly a way to brace myself for what was to come. This is the biggest festival of the year, and everyone is ready for the time of their lives. I've had half a year to prepare for this night, but it's harder to face the end when she is sitting right in front of me.





	Fluorescent Goodbyes

After nine years, this will be the first festival my husband isn't attending, and the last my daughter will witness with me. If I knew back then that I would be spending tonight pushing Elizabeth around in a wheelchair, I would've never succumbed to the alluring posters hung around town, for now, the sight has lost its luster. The smell of pastries did its best to try and drag me from the depths of my own mind, but even so, the distraction never lasted as long as I would have hoped. Bright colored game booths, pink cotton candy, large collections of flowers, the cheering, the crowds, none of it was enough to grant me solace. I miss the joy this place used to hold, now all it brings me are memories of times I could only hope to get back. At moments I could still feel my husband's hand on top of mine, only to be then reminded of what has been taken from me in that car accident. For this same reason, I tried to ignore the person resting in the chair, not wanting to remember that I had already lost her as well.

"M…M-Mom! Look, they have an ice cream flavor… New! Can we go try it, please?" She cried, looking towards the booth a couple places over.

"Hold on a moment," was my reply before looking back to the cashier and handing her a dollar for the soda I had ordered.

"Come on, Mom! The line… getting longer."

I sighed at her impatience. "I know dear, but we still have to wait for your drink."

Even now she was as passionate as ever about the festival. She would never stop loving this day; it has always been a part of her. When she was four, she would spend the entire month before the celebration asking her father daily if we could go. Despite his warming assurances that it was on our schedule, they would never ease her anxiety that something might get in the way.

In the morning, during breakfast, with a waffle half shoved into her mouth, Elizabeth would talk about the plays they might have this year. After school, the entire trip home was talk about funnel cake and ice cream, and at night she would crawl into our bed, lie on top of me, and mutter in exhausted words dreams of fireworks and bright lights shooting across the starry sky.

Oh, how she loved the fireworks.

"Fireworks" is a forbidden word during the festival, uttered by neither the parents nor the managers. This way, new visitors may relish in the magic of mystery, wondering what the commotion was about when the staff called everyone towards the soccer field for the main event. My daughter advocates for this secrecy every year, denying anyone the information who happens to ask her. The starry blasts held a special place for everyone in their hearts, but for her, they're the highlight of the year. In weeks following the festival, I will ask her what she loved most about it, and we both would agree that the fireworks had to be the best part.

Sometimes I wondered why I asked when the answer never changed, then I remembered how her face would light up at the question. Anything we were talking about previously was forgotten while her voice sped up and raised in pitch as if I had just told her we would be opening her Christmas gifts early. Once she began to relay every little moment she experienced no one could stop her. Her eyes would open wide and twinkle in the evening sun and her arms would move in grand gestures above her head as she described the blasts in the sky.

However, nine months ago, the accident broke that little girl I hold dear to me. The crash took her sparkle, and I buried my spirit along with my husband. No pittance of money the man driving that vehicle gave me as compensation would replace the world I had lost, especially since he only paid that money through obligation. He tried his hardest to fight the court in hopes of lowering the payment hanging above his head, but I wouldn't let him gain sympathy in an event that caused my daughter so much pain.

How could I forgive a man who so blatantly attempted to struggle his way out of the trial? How could I empathize with someone who has to raise a family after he's taken mine? How could I pity a stranger after I saw my own daughter covered in bandages and unconscious in a hospital bed?

After the accident I stayed by her side for several weeks, praying for her to wake up. The doctor assured me she would live, but the severity of the damage to her brain was yet to be determined.

When she was released a couple weeks later it was with a packet of medical records explaining in mundane legal terms what the damage had turned out to be. I didn't need to read the words on the documents or listen to the doctor's words to understand the symptoms. The car crash took away the sparkle in her eyes and covered her glisten in scars. The light glow she would have whenever she entered a room had left her, but what pained me the most was her smile. The one part of her I miss the most, and the one part of her I may never see again.

Try as she might, her muscle functions were limited throughout the day. Even now I held a spoonful of the peppermint ice cream she wanted up to her mouth, feeding it to her carefully as she was unable to move her head without struggling first. She couldn't gather the control to feed herself since her arms wouldn't move. Her eyes appeared glossed over, her lips quivered with each bite, and her body was so weak and fragile. At times I will need to hold her head up because she had lost the ability to do so herself, and she was now losing her ability to speak.

Sometimes the strength came back to her, but her smile never did. Sometimes I would look over to see she had started clapping along to the music surrounding us, but it never lasted long as she would slowly lose the strength to continue. I used to cherish whenever she could be herself and enjoy the festival, but now they only pain me when I notice the gaps in time between those moments grow longer. Over the past few months, she has been growing weaker, and it became clear with each passing day that the doctor was correct on everything he wrote down in those documents.

After a while, a few of her friends from school came over to greet us. After a sharing of hellos and a round of feeding her blue cotton candy, I decided to leave my daughter with her friends for a little bit. I never like being the type of mother that hovers over her child when a couple of boys walk by, however, to be safe, as I can't help worrying, I sat down on a bench well within eyesight of the group and tossed my hair back out of my face.

Some kids ran past waving sticks at each other like swords, yelling at each other to hurry up in some spectacular race they were holding for themselves. I missed the way Elizabeth used to chase the boys around the park. How she used to laugh and sing with the people around her and throw flecks of strawberry ice cream at the other kids in makeshift snowball fights. How they all used to dance with the shadows and share cupcakes whenever another child wanted a taste. But most of all, I missed the smile she used to have. Just a year ago she was able to smile back at me, but now that was gone.

I sat there in relative silence until I saw some of the event managers begin to corral everyone towards the beloved soccer field. Knowing what was coming clouded some of the magic of my first show, though, seeing the new faces in puzzled wonder sparked a different kind of memory in me.

I began to reminisce in the first time I went to the Midnight Light Festival nine years ago. The night was pitch black and the stars dimly lit the sky when everyone was asked by the staff to follow them to watch the _main event_.

As the crowd marched away from the festival site I could see the lights from the booths go out like fireflies in a garden. One after another they flickered into nothing, and as the world became darker, the sky grew brighter. I remember staring up into the twinkling void as best I could, but learned quickly not to blink, for if I did, the stars would appear dozens more in the distance. The first time I walked down the field I assumed what I was seeing was the event, having as much information as the children did, but then we were asked to sit down. My husband fell to the ground immediately, reaching out his arms to hold onto our daughter. Carefully I handed her down to him, and after a little tugging on my summer dress, I was also seated. I leaned against his shoulder and removed my sandals while the staff hushed everyone down.

"Alright, everyone. Welcome to the seventh year of the Midnight Light Festival!"

Hundreds, if not a thousand people, met the announcement with enormous applause, requiring another hushing from the managers as the leader with the megaphone continued the speech.

"We all know you are excited about the main event, and we cannot wait to show it to you. For anyone returning this year, we've made sure to improve the show, and to anyone new here we hope no one spoiled it for you. Now be patient, be seated, and if you're going to take pictures, please turn off your camera flashes. Thank you!"

The megaphone was turned off and the crowd became quiet. Even the kids who were laughing and screaming earlier now surrendered their voices to the suspense. The anticipation was both exciting and unnerving as the minutes dragged on, and the silence became overwhelming. Like a toddler I was shaking on the ground with impatience, running over the possibilities in my mind. So much so, that when the first blast hit the sky, I jumped from the sudden startling "boom" that shattered the tranquility to pieces. Within moments, green sparks flooded the stars in large ripples that covered the otherwise empty void above me. Streaks of purple and blue rose and fell in glittering cascades, each crackle suffocated the cheers from our neighboring guests, and I became lost in the deafening sounds.

I, however, was not the only one captivated by the bright lights. Looking over at Elizabeth, I saw her eyes wide open, staring up at the fireworks with unending attention. My husband also looked down for the first time and seemed just as surprised as I was that she wasn't crying out to us. The other five-year-olds around us were screaming in excitement, but she was simply in a state of awe. Amazed, I moved closer, watching her face glow with the same colors she watched behind me. There was no doubt in my mind that we would be coming back next year.

My reminiscence was broken when Peter, one of Elizabeth's friends, pushed the chair in front of me with a smile on his face. It wasn't clear how long I had been reflecting on the past, but I was brought back to see my daughter sitting snugly in her wheelchair. She was wrapped up in a light blanket with her long brown hair done in a loose French braid that flowed over her shoulder. I looked at it in silent shock, my eyes trailing the strands as they wove between each other seamlessly.

"Hey, Mrs. Everling, what do you think? I've been practicing for months to get it right, I hope you like it."

"Yeah M…M-Mom, how… it looks?" She gave me a smile that mirrored his. Fake, forced, and full of pity. I couldn't stand to look at his attempts to comfort me.

"Is there anything you could be doing besides tormenting me?" I asked him, tears welling up in my eyes.

The joy ran from his face and began to resemble the grief etched one I held most of the night. He decided, after a few minutes of silence, to leave us and spend time with his own family, and for a moment, I was relieved by his absence. Then soon, his absence turned into the park's absence, and the mood turned to that of pure loneliness.

The cheering was gone, the crowds were gone, my husband was gone, and soon, my daughter would be too.

"Do you not want to go with him?" I asked the girl. "He seems like a nice boy, and you've already spent years with me."

To my surprise and sorrow, she shook her head. "I just wanted to… goodbye…"

I opened up my purse and brought out a small pink envelope the doctor had given me. Inside were a couple of pills which I handed to her hesitantly along with my soda and watched as she quickly choked down the medication. After throwing the cup away, we took off towards the park walking up the garden path towards fireworks which would soon display their shattering beauty. Once more the lights behind us died out as we walked past, as was tradition, but I didn't look up at the stars. Their luster had been lost over the years, and knowing what was about to happen ruined the experience of watching them. Instead, I looked down at the flower beds beside us and saw the petals wilting at the edges as summer came to an end. Elizabeth gazed at them intently too, noting the different colors out loud with each one we passed.

"M…M-Mom… Flower… Can you… Please?"

At first, I ignored her request until she insisted on stopping. What was so important to her about a flower?

"Purple," she muttered to me in the dark, and I was forced to pull out my phone to distinguish between the colors. After pressing the power button and unlocking my screen, I was met with the picture held as my background for the past four years.

There she was, my little girl, standing next to her dad in her bright pink jacket, with her long silky hair, cheery blue eyes, and a flower crown placed upon her head. If only I knew back then what was coming. If only I had known this would happen. Why would the world keep such a secret from me, only to cause me more pain?

"M…M-Mom? Are you okay?"

When I worked up the strength to look back at her, a blast went off around us, signaling the start of the fireworks. Her face glowed with the colors of the sky as wonderful mixes of reds and blues, purples and greens, and whites and golds flashed across the dirtied path just as they had years before.

"No, dear. I am not okay, but this isn't my time to grieve."

There was a purple Stargazer Lily that I reached out to and broke from its host, leaving as much of the stemming branch as I could. Plucking a leaf from the stem, I stood back up and placed my palm on top of her head and carefully tucked the flower under her hair. Her eyes closed lightly while I fiddled with the flower to make sure it would stay put. When I was finally content, my hands moved down her face and cupped her cheeks between them, causing those sparkling eyes to open up and look back into mine.

I knew she was scared leaving, and I was scared of letting go.

The rainbow streaks exploded in the sky above us, and she shakingly lifted her hands and placed them on mine, forcing a weak, quivering smile. All my strength had finally faltered. Nothing stopped the tears from dripping down and collecting in her lap, and soon she began to cry too. I kissed her forehead and her cheek several times, one after another, fearing the moment when I would have to let go of her.

"It's okay, sweetie. It's all going to be okay," I whispered to her desperately. One last embrace turned into hundreds as the night hastened to a close. I never asked if it was painful. I was too afraid of the answer. Instead, we talked of funnel cake and ice cream for hours, long into the night, even after the show had ended.

"M…M-Mom…" She struggled more than usual to say.

"Yes, dearie?"

"Will they have fireworks?... Where dad is…"

"Of course they will, tons of them! Just for you when you go."

"When will… see you again?"

"I don't know, but I'll be there soon, I promise."

"C-Can you r-read it?... To me M… M-Mom..."

"Sweetie, the doctor said I shouldn't read it until afte…" I was cut off after I felt her hand lightly squeeze mine, and I knew she wanted nothing else.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the pink envelope once more, unfolded the note, and by the light of my phone, I began to read.

* * *

_Dear Mom,_

_The doctor says I should write this, he thinks it will help you feel better, but I'm not sure what to write. I hope you are okay, maybe I already know you're okay, I'm not sure when the doctor will give you this letter. If you're not doing alright then I'm sorry for causing that feeling, but the doctor says it won't hurt, so please don't worry about me, I'll be fine._

_I know you've been going through a lot to try a win against that guy who caused this, but I don't want you working yourself too hard, and I know dad wouldn't either. Really, I just want you to be happy again, but whenever you're home you always wish dad was still alive. I know I can't change what happened, but sometimes I think you forget you can't change it either._

_You wish there was something different you could have done to save us both from that crash, and sure, it hurts to be in a wheelchair all the time, but there's more to our past than that. We've always gone to the festival because we love the memories it built for us and the dreams we cherished with each other since I was younger. It never mattered that we had already seen the show because knowing how it ended didn't change anything._

_We went for each other, and sometimes I feel you've forgotten that dad wasn't the only person you went to the festival for. That's why I asked the doctor to let us go to the festival to carry through with this. I want to remind you of the happiness in your past before I go, and I want us both to be happy again when the festival is over._

_The doctor says he talked to you about it too, and that you're not sure if you can go through with it, but we both know that my brain is dying, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. I don't want to live the rest of my life in a hospital, and I can't put you through having to nurse me in that state. I know how difficult it will be to say goodbye, and I hope that when the time comes I'll be able to say goodbye back to you. Honestly, I'm not sure if my mind will function well enough by then to say it._

_Just in case I can't, I'll say it now. Mom, wherever you are, no matter what is happening, I love you. Even after we've parted ways, I will always love you. Don't let grief hold onto you for too long, I'd be upset if it did. I'll tell Dad you love him when I see him again, and we'll wait for you, forever if we have to. Don't let this keep you sad, but don't forget me either. I just hope I see you again soon._

_Your loving daughter,_

_Elizabeth_

* * *

I finished reading the letter in a fit of tears and shoved the note into my purse before grabbing both of my daughter's hands in mine and squeezing them as tightly as I dared. Her eyes were closed, her head was on her chair, her breathing had stopped, and in that moment, my world had stopped too.

To my aching heart I had lost my only child, and to my regret, I never even said goodbye.


End file.
